Training is going fine, Trihubby is pregnant and Fall is defintely here

All, right, I'll start with the obvious concern; Trihubby is pregnant. Not in the Buck Naked Boy sense of pregnant, he hasn't been to the dentist in a while. But more in the, one of my eggs meandered across goodness knows how many cellular membranes and implanted in a pre-evolutionary pouch in TriH's abdomen, where one of his sperm, being surgically impeded from following nature's path, also landed. At least that is the explanation Trihubby gave in my dream. Exactly why a pregnant TH was invading my dreams, I have no idea. It might have something to do with his new found obsession with Kelly Clarkson. Yes, I know outing a Clarkson fan is sinister, but we might as well be done with it. Yesterday Hyphen Girl talked him into buying her new "Walk Away" video, and before I knew it, the whole album was down loaded.

"You really ought to learn to dance like that."

As if becoming an Ironwoman wasn't enough, he wants me to dance like a rock star too?

It was supposed to be cold and rainy yesterday, so I planned to throw the bike on the trainer and spin out 40 miles while watching the 2-0!!! Vikings. It was a picture perfect day, as I discovered on my 30 minute run off.

So, of course today is 44, spitting rain and breezy. Just for fun I checked the PCB weather forecast, figuring I'd stay warm on today's 40 miler with thoughts of Florida. It's 50, stormy and rainy there as well. So, more training fun.

This week my plan calls for 4 days of 40 miles, each day followed by a swim or run. 160 miles biking. Bring it on. I'm also being dilligent in stealing a nap for 30 or 40 minutes everyday to let my brain recover. A tired Trimama brain is nightmare's waiting to pop up brain, and nightmares during the day aren't so fun. I had someone ask me once if I ever have good days or if everyday is shakled by memories (my paraphrase). I responded with this analogy. When I lived in Colorado it stormed every afternoon. Some days it's just a quick rain shower that passes, and some days it was a snowstorm that dumped 2 feet of the white stuff. I suppose it's a little like having lost a love one. Some days you pass with just a dull ache, you walk in the house vaguely aware that they aren't there, you look for a phantom hug, etc and some days, like anniversary's or special moments you ache with your loss. I carry a lot scars and cuts from years and years of violence and mental bludgeoning and pass most days merely aware of that fact. But then there are days when the storm clouds break and an old wound opens and the nightmares and day terrors flare up and that takes a little extra care to navigate. I'm frankly a little concerned that Florida will throw my brain off a mental ledge, and you'll just find me in a fetal position under a palm tree somewhere, but that is where The Tribe and Trihubby (if he can get his pregnant belly on the plane) are god's grace towards me. In triathlon we have this saying regarding racing and training whereby every endevour is another deposit in your race account. I sort of chuckled about this analogy on my last swim. You see, I have two bank accounts. One is my own "fun money" account. This is where my YMCA check is deposited and that money buys fun; race entries, Christmas presents, weekend get aways, etc. I definitely plan to have fun racing Florida, because I can. Because neither my deranged parents nor my "bad" days killed me. Because life is good, and living is sweet. My other bank account is our household acccout. This one pays the essentials. It's the one that keeps the roof over our heads, food on the table and clothes on our back. And this account has overdraft insurance tied to it. Nine thousand dollars worth of protection. It would take a lot of screwed up things to overdraw this account. I've tried. In many races and on multiple training days I've tried. But it's solid. It's solid because it's not just built on my deposits, but it's backed by a good God, a faithful and loving husband and a bundle of affection known as The Tribe. They all conspire to keep me looking foward, forgetting what lay behind, and living this day and everyday better than the last.

There is a guy who rides a scooter around town and his bike cracks me up. He has adorned his bike with 50 or 60 chrome rear view mirrors. So essentially, while he is always moving forward, his view is always back. I can never remember the correct blurb on my car mirrors, it's either "things in mirror are closer than they appear" or "things in mirror appear closer than they are". Either way, the analogy to life is perfect. Some of my experiences appear closer, and more threatening then they are, and I've learned to "talk these down" while on the other hand, some things I thought were farther away, really sit quite comfortably between my ears, waiting to throw a wrench in my spokes. I'm learning to identify these and talk them down as well. It's all about perspective, and this is where it is certainly good luck to break a mirror. Not in the sense of distorting reality with denial, but rather in the sense of accepting where I've come from, assessing the damage done, owning the hurt, and then putting it in perspective relative to today, tomorrow and eternity. I guess it's like being on that bike and moving forward, seeing the road ahead or fixating on an image in the mirror. The reality is, if I keep moving forward, if I let those past things go, if I forgive (which is hard), if I just keep putting one foot in front of the other, eventually the images will fade into a distant speck.

And if I fixate, I crash. Hard.

I'm not a big fan of road rash, so I think you know my choice.

Whoa look at the time. Did I just write all of that? I swear if you pop up in my dreams pregnant, I'm leaving the blogosphere.

Just keepin' it real here

Trimama out!